


Heart Like Glass

by Laiquilasse



Series: Of Heat and Hearts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha Males, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Analingus, Claiming, Comfort, Emergency Contraception, Emotions, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Morning After, Mutual Masturbation, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Part Two, References to Knotting, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:18:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laiquilasse/pseuds/Laiquilasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the day after Sherlock's heat has ended, and a trip to the pharmacy brings out emotional baggage for both Sherlock and John. Sherlock struggles with the physical after-effects, and John with affarirs of the heart. As John takes care of the only omega in his life, he has to question how long they can keep this up, and whether there are some things better left unsaid, and if a life without bonding is truly possible for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Support in Many Forms

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сердце как стекло](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550199) by [Mariyana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariyana/pseuds/Mariyana)



John tidied the lounge whilst Sherlock showered, changing into his clothes and feeling thankful he'd thought to shower the night before. The place was a total tip, and reeked of dying heat, sweat and come in equal measure. Mrs Hudson would have a blue fit when she got back from Cornwall. John threw out two blankets from the sofa that he deemed ruined, and started the washing machine on the pile of bedsheets. 

Anything to distract himself from what was coming. 

John was a doctor. He knew Sherlock's pregnancy was, at the most, 72 hours old. Probably not even implanted, though alpha-omega pregnancies that resulted in alpha babies tended to implant surprisingly quickly... Regardless, the thing was around eight cells big. Hardly counted as a thing. 

The thing with John's DNA. 

Oh, shitting fuck. This was a disaster. 

John heard the door to Sherlock's room close, so took the chance to put his head in his hands.

He'd never felt so torn in two.

He fully supported Sherlock's decision, as he would any omega, to prevent a pregnancy... But John was an alpha (who wasn't getting any younger) fresh from sharing an omega's heat where he had failed to bond. The idea of stopping nature taking its course was repellent to the primeval part of John's brain, but oh, did he hate himself for it. 

"Let's go?" Sherlock's voice made John look up, panicking about how long he'd been watched. 

"Right," John smoothed his shirt. "Ok."

Sherlock pulled his coat on. "You don't have to pay, I've checked."

"Sherlock, you don't have to do this," John blurted.

Sherlock turned. "Excuse me?"

"If you don't want. If you think you _have_ to do this because I don’t want…” John stopped, unsure how to go on.”

“This upsets you,” Sherlock said.

“I don’t know how to feel about this.”

Sherlock looked at his cuffs. “John, I realise you may harbour some degree of resentment for my seeking emergency contraception, not to mention failing to take precautions beforehand-”

“That was my fault, too,” John said quickly.

“-but I don’t feel ready to bring a baby into my life, and I don’t know if I ever will.” Sherlock rubbed his nose. “I understand if you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Upset, then.”

“I’m _torn_ ,” John said. “If I could turn off the bloody alpha part of my head that’s whinging at me, believe me, I would. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this, but at the same time, I just…” John went forward and put a hand on Sherlock’s arm, though he ached to embrace him. “Sherlock, I want you to be happy, and I don’t think being pregnant is going to make you happy.”

Sherlock shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Sherlock’s eyes flicked to John’s, and John saw a glint of an omega’s fear in them. Needless. John would never have stopped him. “What you did for me, during my heat…”

“You knew I would, right?” John smiled.

“I don’t know. I think on some level, I wanted you to want me, if not actually…” Sherlock blushed, then and stood straighter. “It is a pity pheromones produced during heats make any conclusions difficult to draw.”

“You have to science everything,” John sighed. They went downstairs, and locked the front door behind them.

 

 

*

 

 

The pharmacist was, to John’s surprise, an omega woman. He could clearly see she was bonded, both from the scars on her neck and the ring on her finger. It was highly unusual for omegas to work at all – they were mothers first and foremost. He wondered if she had taken this job to support her fellow omegas if and when they needed her.

“Excuse me?” Sherlock approached the desk.

The pharmacist – Moira, her name tag said – looked up and smiled. “Good afternoon, sir. How can I-”

“I need the morning-after pill,” Sherlock said quickly. There was no one aside from the three of them in the shop, but he lowered his voice anyway.

John wished he wouldn’t. It made the whole thing seem seedy.

“Is this post-heat?” Moira asked.

“Yes.”

“And when were you first knotted?”

“About twelve hours into it…” Sherlock’s face was on fire, but he was answering properly, and John felt a swell of pride.

“And your heat ended…?”

“Late this morning.”

She nodded, and put her glasses, which were on a chain, on her nose. “Alright, sir, if you can just wait one moment,” and she vanished into the drugstore at the back.

“You ok?” John put a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back.

“Yes. It seems rather intrusive,” Sherlock whispered.

“She just needs to know which drug to give you, Sherlock, it’s ok.”

Sherlock looked at him, and John started rubbing his back gently. “I feel nauseous.”

“That’s your omega rebelling,” Moira said cheerily, coming back into sight. “Most customers find it’s better to take it here and now, otherwise nature tries to make them change their minds.” She put a blisterpak of two tablets on the counter. “Would you like a cup of water?”

“Please,” Sherlock nodded.

She came back with a paper cup. “There’s a few side-effects,” she said seriously. “You might feel ill for a few days, just a bit flu-like and off-colour. And your next heat will come quicker, and possibly stronger, too.”

Sherlock’s nostrils flared. “Excellent.” He picked up the cup, popping the blisterpak with one hand, and knocking the two tablets straight back. He swallowed the water and handed the cup back. “Thank you for your help.”

“Not a problem, dear,” she finally looked at John. “You look after him, now. He’s going to feel a bit off for a few days.”

“I will,” John said. Watching Sherlock swallow the tablets had made him feel rather faint.

"And look after yourself, too. I'm guessing you had something to do with it..?"

Sherlock was already heading out of the door.

"We're not bonded," John said quickly.

"Doesn't matter, dear. I saw how he looked at you. Go on, catch him up."

John followed Sherlock, and they stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

Sherlock took a deep lungful of London air, his face relaxing for the first time since John saw him sleeping. John smiled. Sherlock was relieved. That was all that mattered.

“I don’t know about ill, but I’m starving,” Sherlock rolled his shoulders back.

“Chinese?” John suggested.

“Easy on the MSG, my stomach is empty,” Sherlock said. “Though that does sound good.”

“I’ll call.” John put his hands in his pockets. “Sherlock… you know what you said before about – about wanting me to want you?”

Sherlock gave a single nod.

“You didn’t have to wait for a heat to investigate that, you know.” John glanced up.

“Mm, granted. But the litmus test would be how you treated me when I was a demanding sex-pest, surely?”

“Most alphas would be thrilled to go along with you, Sherlock, you smelled like – ” John stopped quickly.

“Yes, but you didn’t just… help me sexually. You helped me stay hydrated, clean. Happy.” Sherlock pressed his lips together a moment. “That’s not always usual.”

“You have a lot of experience with alphas?” John had to ask.

“In my teens. Twenties. Most just want to stick it in and leave. They don’t… Heats are very emotional, for us. For omegas. We’re not just looking to get pregnant, we’re looking for mates. It’s a biological urge. And to be treated with anything less than the utmost care and respect... it is as though that one heat is as significant as years of courtship. Good or bad.”

John had to force himself to keep walking. “So… I courted you?”

“You gave me nourishment, kept me warm, made me a nest in my den - my bed - and yours… The only thing you didn’t do was show me you could provide material goods,” Sherlock shrugged. “It’s a courtship whether we like it or not.”

“I don’t not like it,” John said quietly.

“No?”

“No.”

They walked in silence, nearing the flat.

“It was a good courtship, John,” Sherlock said. “Thank you.”

“So… what happens now? You didn’t get any contraception from the pharmacy.”

“I want something a little more permanent than over-the-counter tablets,” Sherlock winced. “I don’t really want to put either of us through this… emergency business… again.”

“Either of us?” John’s heart leapt.

Sherlock faltered. “Me. I. Ah…”

“Sherlock?”

“I can’t ask you to go through this again when I make decisions you disagree with,” Sherlock said quickly. “I can’t… expect you to be there when I…”

“Where else would I be?” John threw his hands up.

“You were never there before,” Sherlock pointed out.

“I thought I’d end up forcing you! I never dreamed you’d want me, too.” John pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sherlock, I am not mad at you for choosing not to be a mother. I’m annoyed we didn’t have this conversation before that. I mean…”

“You wouldn’t have helped me through my heat if you thought I didn’t want your children?” Sherlock frowned.

“No, but I would have made sure there were condoms in the flat.”

Sherlock’s face relaxed. “I see.”

John huffed out a breath. “Look, let’s get inside, and get you settled. We can do this… Whatever this… Whatever we are… Let me look after you first, ok? You’re going to have a rough few days.”

“Alright,” Sherlock agreed, and they went inside together.


	2. Forgive / Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's body reacts to the medication, and he and John both experience it. Emotions are at a high as they are put to the test in a way neither of them imagined or wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you thank you thank you, one and all for your kind comments and kudos and all the support you have given this series. I love you all so much, you've made writing this series a real delight. xxx

It was after they’d eaten that the fatigue of the past few days really hit them. Sherlock slumped on the sofa, stirring his noodles whilst staring into the middle distance. John watched him without watching him, his own plate half-cleared and abandoned.

“I can’t finish this,” Sherlock put his plate on the coffee table. “My stomach feels off. I ought to eat, I want to, but…”

“She did say you’d feel sick,” John said gently. _This is your own fault_ , he added silently, then hated himself for thinking it. “You can always graze for the next few days.”

“Mm,” Sherlock drew his knees up.

John bit his lip. “Do you have cramp?”

“A little.”

John inhaled deeply, searching out that apple-fresh scent that he now knew had belonged to the bundle of cells not-yet settled in Sherlock’s womb. It was no longer on the spectrum.

A sudden gut-punch of grief hit the alpha. He gripped the sofa arm with one arm, trying to hide how badly he felt. He looked away from Sherlock, his breath catching. _It’s gone. Our baby is gone. It’s not going to be born. It’s not going to grow. It’s not going to develop._ A thick soup of terrible thoughts bubbled in John’s mind. He wanted to shake himself, to remind his inner alpha that there had never been a baby – barely anything above a zygote, in fact – and that the first trimester was never a straight road anyway, and that Sherlock was entitled to make this choice, he was, he _was_ , he just was –

John stood, carrying the plates away to give his hands something to do. He wanted badly to drop them, turn back to Sherlock and begin scenting him, inhale the smell of his skin, let himself be explored, because the omega would surely be going into mourning now, he would… Wouldn’t he?

Sherlock stood, wincing. “I think I should go to bed. I feel…” he swallowed hard. “Uh. I feel very unwell.”

John put on his best poker face. “Alright. Do you need anything?”

“Water, perhaps.”

John ran the tap and followed Sherlock into the room. The bed was freshly made, all traces of Sherlock’s fierce heat erased from the flat. The omega dropped his dressing gown onto the floor and climbed under the duvet, looking shaky and pale.

“Here,” John set the glass down. “I’ll leave your door ajar, in case…”

“You can’t smell it anymore.” Sherlock interrupted. “Can you?”

John shook his head. He couldn’t speak. His throat had closed up and he wanted to punch a wall.

Sherlock’s face crumpled for a second before he got control of it. “I thought as much. I seem to be experiencing… some form of mourning. Though it is tainted with relief, and that… feels strange.”

John slowly blew out a breath, his Adam’s apple throbbing. “Sherlock, it’s fine. To feel mixed up about it. It’s ok. To feel sad…”

“You’re upset,” Sherlock said, his voice very small. “I knew you were.”

“My alpha is upset,” John tried to explain. “It thinks its baby has died!”

Sherlock stared, his pale blue eyes shining more and more by the second before they spilled over. “John..”

John pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Oh god, why are we like this?”

Sherlock shook his head, tears escaping. “I don’t know…”

“I mean, I know why you chose this, and it makes perfect sense, and we aren’t even bonded, and you could never look after a baby, let’s be honest, you’d leave it at a crime scene or in a shop, or something,” John was speaking too quickly, too emotionally, too much. “And I know we shared a heat, god that sounds more romantic than I think it was for you, but I loved being with you, and I’d be with you again if you let me, and I just feel that my alpha, inside, thinks of you as mine, even though you’re not, and the – the thing was only genetically mine, and I never had a choice – ”

“Stop it!” Sherlock shoved him in the stomach. “Shut up, John. Shut the fuck up. I’m being torn in two by my mourning womb and my relieved mind and it feels like dying, John. It. Feels. Like. Dying. And you soliloquising about fucking me and feeling guilty about it isn’t helping!”

John stared. “You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

“I just want to get through this, and go back to normal.” Sherlock lay down and punched his pillow into shape. “This was never part of any plan.”

“Then what the fuck was your plan, Sherlock Holmes?” John exploded. “Go into heat with me in the flat and expect me to ignore you? That somehow a barrier would drop down between us? Jesus Christ, do you even hear yourself half the time?”

“I’m not sorry we had intercourse,” Sherlock muttered.

“Then what, Sherlock?”

He turned over in a whoosh of covers. “What I’m sorry about, John, is that by avoiding pregnancy I have driven a wedge between us that will never be taken out. If we share another heat, if we remain friends, if you leave, if what our omega and alpha sides are, at the moment, screaming for us to do comes true and we bond – this will still have happened. This will always be the moment I hurt both of us.” He turned back around. “And nothing will ever make it better. You will never forget I took your chance of fatherhood away just because I didn’t want to be a mother. You might forgive me. But you’ll never forget it.”

John stared, all words having dried up on his tongue. He shook his head. “…no.”

Sherlock went very still. “No… you won’t forgive me, either?”

John swallowed painfully. “I won’t forgive you, because there’s nothing to forgive. You had to be selfish, Sherlock. You had to. I understand that. It doesn’t stop it hurting. But it was the right thing for you. It’s alright…”

Sherlock started crying, his shoulders shaking silently under the duvet.

“It’s alright,” John said again. And again. And again. He climbed on top of the duvet behind Sherlock, wrapping an arm around him, holding him tight, the covers a sheath between their bodies. John gently scented the tired, frightened omega in his arms, letting him cry, letting him mourn, both of them seeking comfort from the scenting and touch, both of them drifting into an exhausted sleep just as the moon came up.


	3. Savouring the Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is ill. John's presence is a comfort. They get close...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient for this to be updated! I've got another fic on the go at the same time, as well as work, so it's been a squeeze fitting everything in this past week. Thank you for all your comments, kudos and bookmarks. I love you all.

Sherlock was up around seven in the morning, hurrying out of bed to be sick. John followed him, sitting on the washing basket and rubbing Sherlock’s back. Neither of them said anything, and the episode passed fairly quickly – most of Sherlock’s dinner had left his stomach already. John got the omega a glass of water, and bleached the toilet bowl as Sherlock brushed his teeth and got back into bed.

“You want anything else?” John asked, smoothing the covers. “Tea? Toast?”

Sherlock shifted on the sheets. “I think… I would like you, close. If you wouldn’t mind. Your… alpha presence seems to act as a painkiller, or soother of some sort.”

John didn’t need asking twice, lying back on top of the duvet, spooning around Sherlock, one arm around his chest. “This ok?”

“Yes,” Sherlock backed into him, and squirmed slightly. “Mm.” He hooked an arm out of the covers.

John let him settle, then softly, his heart in his mouth and his fingers trembling, ran a touch down the exposed limb.

Sherlock went very still, though didn’t flinch away.

John repeated the action, stroking over Sherlock’s slender arm to the tips of his fingers.

This was not heat-induced touching for pleasure. This was tender, affectionate touches of sympathy, of what little comfort John could give to Sherlock, and take from him in return. Sherlock let out a slow breath, leaning back and letting his head fall to the side. A silent plea.

John leaned in close, keeping his hand stroking Sherlock’s forearm, and ran his nose from the hinge of Sherlock’s jaw, down to his shoulder, in a slow scenting that made Sherlock shudder.

“Is this what-”

“It feels nice,” Sherlock interrupted. “It helps.”

John resumed. He inhaled the scent of Sherlock’s skin slowly, savouring the notes and the lingering animalistic tangs of apprehension and wonder. How often must this happen to him, after all? He moved his hand from Sherlock’s arm to his waist, the duvet still a barrier between them, and leaned closer to sniff at the back of Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock let out a tiny noise, his eyes widening at the shivers John was drawing from him. John nuzzled at his jaw before scenting his neck again, discerning the apprehension leaving, and the beginnings of something deeper than acceptance. A sort of peace. A sort of want, more than for just an alpha’s comforting presence.

“Sherlock…” John breathed over the shell of Sherlock’s ear. The omega shuddered again, pin-pricks of niceness coming with the tickling shivers. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Sherlock’s whisper came back instantly. “No, please…” He exposed more of his neck, bending in what looked like an uncomfortable way.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” John laced his fingers into Sherlock’s curls. “I want you to feel… relaxed.”

Sherlock nodded, and pushed the duvet down his body, exposing his upper half, clad in a soft pyjama t-shirt. “I am… It’s soothing.”

John arranged the covers before looking over Sherlock. “How are you even real?” he shook his head, stroking down Sherlock’s arm once again. “How are you here, and unmated, and so…”

“Because I choose to be here, and – and unmated,” Sherlock rolled onto his back to look up at John. “We’re all here… wherever we are... because of our choices.”

“Not necessarily our own,” John pointed out, thinking of various kidnap attempts.

Sherlock twigged onto his thoughts and smiled. “True.” He shifted on the mattress. “Can we resume scenting, please?”

John nodded, moving low, one leg over Sherlock’s in a half-straddle he could easily escape from, if he wished. He went back to his gentle sniffing and caressing of Sherlock’s throat, revelling in the closeness of their chests, and grateful for the covers over their hips and legs, because John was finding it hard to ignore the growing erection in his trousers.

“Uh…” he moved slightly, the hardness nudging Sherlock’s hip, though neither of them mentioned it besides Sherlock turning his head further, and John touching his lips to Sherlock’s throat.

“Oh,” Sherlock murmured in soft surprise as John kissed the tendons of his neck, down to his scent gland, which was making the entire room smell like cake and vanilla and cinnamon and just…

“Oh, shit,” John put his weight on his elbows. “Sherlock, I’m going to have to stop.”

“You’re aroused,” Sherlock said.

“Pretty difficult to deny it, right now,” John blushed. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Sherlock frowned. “Why are you..?”

“You didn’t ask for this, you just wanted me to comfort you – ”

“I am almost certain intercourse can be classed as a comfort, in some situations,” Sherlock shrugged.

John shook his head. “Sherlock, we can’t… You’re in the middle of…”

“Then you don’t have to penetrate me,” Sherlock said simply.

John wanted to burst out laughing. “How can you talk like that at a time like this?”

“Because my body wants your body, and it’s grossly unfair of you to deny it,” Sherlock pouted.

And John lost it, diving forward to kiss Sherlock deeply, working his mouth open to sweep his tongue inside. Sherlock was kicking the covers off his legs, and oh god, there was nothing but loose trousers between them now. John groaned in want, kneeing Sherlock’s legs apart to settle between them. His heavy cock was tenting his bottoms almost comically, Sherlock’s smaller erection just begging to be rubbed up against.

Sherlock gasped as John rolled his hips. His hands flew to John’s shoulders, and for a moment John thought he was going to push him away, but he just pulled him closer. “John…”

John repeated the action, his cock aching for skin-on-skin contact, the friction not enough but it would have to be enough, because Sherlock wasn’t… oh god.

“Got to get these off,” John knelt up and pulled Sherlock’s cotton trousers down to his knees. Sherlock kicked them away as John struggled out of his own, feeling like a teenager who’d been given a chance and couldn’t let this one go. “God, shit, what are we…”

“Stop asking questions, you’re putting me off,” Sherlock reached for John’s cock and squeezed.

John’s hips jutted forward, beyond his control as he moaned. “Oh, fuck.”

“Another time,” Sherlock said, actually dragging John forward by his erection until their cocks slotted together, between their bodies, and John couldn’t keep still a moment longer.

He thrust gently, feeling the smaller hardness beside his own, the softness of Sherlock’s skin and oh god above, the scent of him. Sherlock was gently leaking slick – nothing like the gushes of heat, but a gentle self-lubrication unique to omegas. John ran a hand over Sherlock’s backside, dipping his fingers into the crease of his arse, and bringing them out wet. “Jesus.”

Sherlock blushed. “That’s…” he never finished his sentence, because John reached between them and gripped both of their cocks with his slick-soaked hand and fingers. Sherlock made a sort of gasping moan, his head rolling back onto the pillows.

John worked his hand firmly, gripping the two of them tight. He leaned up and scented Sherlock at the curve of his throat, kissing and licking and  - though it made Sherlock yelp – dragging his teeth over the skin. He didn’t try it a second time, simply nuzzling the comforting pleasure spot as Sherlock tensed and shivered and twitched beneath him.

“John. John, I…”

“You don’t have to wait,” John breathed onto his skin. “You can come. I want you to, my omega… come for me.”

Sherlock thrust into John’s hand, once, twice, then came with a throat-tearing moan that John kissed straight out of his mouth. He moved his hand faster then, releasing Sherlock’s spent cock to reach his own climax, coming over Sherlock’s stomach in several bursts – nothing like what he’d flooded into Sherlock’s womb only a couple of days ago.

He avoided collapsing on top of the vulnerable omega, and instead rolled to the side, gathering Sherlock into his arms from behind, holding him tight.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes…” Sherlock sighed. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Sherlock took one of John’s hands. “I don’t expect you to… humour my desires for sexual contact every time – ”

“You think I was humouring you?” John snorted. “Sherlock, I had a hard-on you could feel through your bloody winter duvet.”

Sherlock smiled. “Is it wrong that I enjoy knowing you felt like that because of me?”

“Not in the slightest,” John kissed the back of his head. They were quiet for a moment, clearly thinking the same thing. John spoke first. “Are we going to keep doing this?”

Sherlock ran his thumb over John’s knuckles. “I’m not averse to the idea.”

“But do you _want_ to?”

“Is there a difference?”

“I should bloody well hope so,” John nipped at Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock squirmed, smiling. “Alright, I’ll let you have that one. And… yes. I would like this to be… something we do. With a few… conditions.”

“Such as?” John guessed the first one.

“You won’t bond with me.”

“Mm, I knew you’d say that,” John kissed Sherlock’s scent gland. “Anything else?”

“This won’t interfere with cases.”

“Can’t promise anything there, that’s really your call.”

“And,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “you will treat me as you always have – as an equal. Not your omega – not your possession, outside of sex. You’ve always done that for me. I don’t wish it to change.”

John smiled. “Done. And, can I have a condition, too?”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Sherlock nodded.

John leaned up on an elbow, reaching to stroke Sherlock’s hair from his face. His perfect face. “My condition is, you will let me fall in love with you.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide.

“I don’t mean I love you right this second,” John elaborated. “But if love means you’re falling, I’d say I’m on the edge of the cliff. And I don’t want you to stop me falling. Alright?”

Sherlock looked at John as if he’d never seen him before. “Al-alright. Yes, that sounds… Agreeable.”

“Good,” John bent to kiss him. “I’ll draw you a bath, then.”


	4. Getting Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock starts opening up to John, and tells him about his first time.

“I was nearly eighteen when I presented,” Sherlock said, his head on John’s shoulder.

They were in the lounge, half-watching television, the streetlights from outside sending an orange glow through the curtains.

John’s eyebrows went up. “That… late.” Omegas presented young, usually – around thirteen or so. Alphas later, in their mid to late teens, and Betas never at all.

“Mm. Mummy and Father thought I was going to be a beta. They wouldn’t have minded. But as an alpha and omega pair themselves… I think they were hoping for one of each.”

“And they got it.”

“Mm, eventually.” Sherlock smiled slightly. “It’s fortunate it happened before I got to university.”

John’s mouth twisted at the thought of Sherlock, alone and starting his first heat, in a university full of alpha and beta students who couldn’t control themselves. “Was it... scary?”

“I didn’t know what was happening,” Sherlock said. “I’d long resigned myself to being a beta, and I was happy with it. Betas don’t have to have babies, and they don’t have alpha urges to learn to control. It seemed the best option of the three, really. I often mocked Mycroft for being an alpha. He thought I was a lowly nothing. I didn’t care. It seemed like attraction, all that alpha-omega nonsense, was below me. I felt as though I’d drawn the luckiest card.”

John stroked down Sherlock’s arm.

“A boy came to school, on a transfer. He was an alpha boy, and…” Sherlock smiled, ruefully. “I didn’t understand what it was to want someone until I saw him. For the first time in my life I was frustrated at being a beta, as the boy could have any omega he wanted, but wouldn’t look twice at me, a beta who wouldn’t be able to be his mate. It was frustrating to watch him in class or in PE, he wasn’t a typical alpha build – all muscle and no neck – he was tall as me, and looked like a dancer.”

“You’re making me jealous,” John sighed.

“Sorry.” Sherlock shrugged. “I obsessed with him over the Christmas holidays, and when we went back to school, he was there, still unmated, and still gorgeous, and I felt sick. So nauseous at the thought of Spring exams coming and then losing him forever. I sat at my desk feeling hot and upset, and the teacher noticed and sent me home with a sick note.”

“Ah,” John realised.

“Ah indeed. I got home, head full of the boy, feeling terrible. I took some medicine for my temperature, but it wouldn’t come down. I was sick, twice. I started to wonder if I was seriously ill, and text my father to come home. It was always easier for him to get time off than Mummy.”

“Your father…” John tried not to tense at the fear in his body.

“He came home, walked into the lounge where I was hunched under a blanket. He took one sniff of the air, and clamped a hand over his nose and mouth, backing out as though his legs were made of lead. His eyes were so dark, and I knew what he was fighting off, and it scared me. I trusted him - I loved him - and he was suddenly such a threat to me. I'm grateful for his strength. He was able to leave."

John didn’t say anything. You heard about it occasionally. Families who had failed to prepare for a young omega’s heat, and… things happened. Adults were usually able to control themselves, but it wasn’t unheard of for siblings… It was always a minor scandal, but the family was always blamed for their neglect of the situation. The poor omega was usually taken away from them.

Sherlock continued. “He went right back to the door and called through to me, though I didn’t understand, too much. He shouted: ‘I’ll get Mummy to come to you. I’ll call Mycroft. We’ll see you in a few days.’ And he slammed the door. I saw him to go his car and get it in, turning the air condition on, clearing his head before picking up his phone. I knew, then.”

“Were you upset?” John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. I was relieved my Father hadn’t hurt me – though I did lock the door after him… stupid, really, he had a key after all, but it made me feel safer – and Mummy was coming for me, and I wasn’t a beta, and it was as thought I could see betas for what they were – leftovers. They couldn’t do what I could do. I could make babies, and I was special. I went to my room, stripped off, and...”

John nodded. “Was your mum pleased?”

“Thrilled. She came home with a box of… things… but I was too embarrassed to even think about using them. I writhed about on the bed like a fiend, wet and aching, and – ”

“Stop making it sound so sexy?” John winced.

“It’s just a story, John. Anyway, it went into the second day, and I was half-wild. Mummy had brought me drinks and tried to get me to wash when she could, but I could smell she was bonded – I could smell everything, much clearer, now, and I was jealous she had a mate, it didn’t matter who it was. So on the second day, when I had a clear moment, I sent an email.”

John looked at him. “You didn’t…”

“Yes, I emailed the boy from school. The alpha boy I wanted. I sent him an email explaining that although we’d never spoken I was in heat and I wanted him to have intercourse with me. I sent him my address and even gave him instructions on how to sneak up the trellis to my window.”

John didn’t know what to say. “That’s…”

“I know. It was incredibly stupid of me – he could have done anything to me. I only knew his name because I found his school picture on the database. Victor.”

“Nice name,” John sighed, hating the boy of the past. The first alpha to fuck Sherlock. John wanted to bite Sherlock then and there, though outside a heat a bite was just a bite. But he’d been taken by another alpha and it was making John’s instincts flare up.

“Mm. I didn’t tell Mummy. I knew she’d say no. I knew she’d try and stop me. I just opened the window a tiny bit to let the scent of my pheromones drift out, and I waited.

“Did he come?”

“He did. He knocked on the glass around seven in the evening, looking shocked at the state of the room. By that time I was quite desperate, you see, and had resorted to using the toys. He caught me in quite a compromising position. ‘I thought it might be a joke,’ he said, looking somewhere between aroused and horrified. ‘Your email was a bit…’ I didn’t care what he had to say, I could smell he was an alpha, I was shaking with need, and I practically dragged him into the room.”

John shifted, feeling a little aroused, despite his jealousy. Sherlock’s deep voice, describing what had happened to him…

“He took his clothes off quickly, and looked at the bed, but it was ruined,” Sherlock went on. “I went to the daybed instead, and leant over it, legs apart. My dignity had long gone. I just wanted his cock, any cock, really, a knot… I hadn’t realised omegas had to go through this fiery need, and it was terrible. ‘Why aren’t you inside me yet?’ I snapped, looking around at him struggling out of his clothes. God, he was so slow. ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ he said, naked at last, touching my back like I was some sort of treasure. No one had touched me like that. Not ever. Not as though I was something valuable, or precious. I might have savoured it, but it was too late into my heat for that. ‘Just get inside me,’ I said. He was tearing a condom wrapper with his teeth, rolling it onto his erection, and to me it felt like a stupid delay, though I appreciated it later. ‘Fuck me, won’t you?’ I shouted. And he did, thrusting in straight away, no need for preparation, and it was the most peaceful I’d felt in my entire life.”

John was definitely hard, now, picturing virgin Sherlock’s deflowering, his head thrown back in pleasure, taken from behind, his slender body trembling with delight. “Oh…”

“It wasn’t romantic. He paused only for a moment before starting to fuck me, hard. He’d lost control, as had I, and we were running on instinct, desperate to find release and orgasm and knotting. He held my hips tight, he was so strong, pulling my body back as he thrust forward. He missed my prostate, probably through inexperience, but I didn’t care. I was bearing down already, begging for that knot I could feel inflating already, nudging at my entrance.”

John bit his lip, crossing his legs. His cock was throbbing.

“It was over quickly. Less than three minutes of fucking before he fixed his knot inside me and we both came. I was near screaming, the pain and pleasure was so unexpected. I’d never thought about omegas enjoying their heats, or anything like that. And now… I realised what I’d been missing. I was outraged I’d had to wait so long to get it.”

John snapped, pushing Sherlock down onto the sofa and starting to scent his neck firmly. He was delighted to find Sherlock as erect as he was, and they started jutting and grinding against one another. “You’re lucky he didn’t bond with you.”

“He was betrothed. On some level, he was still loyal to that omega, at least in terms of bonding,” Sherlock gasped as John kissed his throat.

“That must have been hard.”

“It was fine. He came to me for a few months before we left for university and…” Sherlock thrust up against John’s cock. “He’s bonded and mated, now. And as much as I enjoyed his attentions…” he shuddered, “I did not want to be his mate.”

“That’s a relief,” John murmured against Sherlock’s vanilla skin. “I was getting jealous.”

“Any port in a storm.”

“And cock in a heat?”

“More or less…” Sherlock wrapped a leg over John’s hip. “Or out of heat, apparently.”

“You’re welcome,” John said, dragging a hand over the curve of Sherlock’s arse. “And Sherlock?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you for trusting me with the story,” John smiled. “I know a lot of omegas… don’t have a great first time.”

“No,” Sherlock sighed. “We generally don’t. Timing aside, I’d say I got rather lucky.”

“Speaking of getting lucky…” John slipped his hand up under Sherlock’s top.

“Indeed,” Sherlock relaxed back on the sofa. “I am, rather.”


	5. Unbonded and Unharmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John lets slip a secret.

Sherlock’s sickness passed in another day, and things started to get back to normal. Or, as normal as things could be when two flatmates had shared a heat, and with plans to do it again. John wasn’t exactly sure what they were – there didn’t seem to be a proper word for their relationship. More than friends, certainly. But ‘boyfriends’ was what betas said, and now he thought about it, he couldn’t remember hearing of an alpha-omega pair who were like them. There were one-night stands, heat-mates and courting pairs, but not dating. Dating was what betas did. Alphas courted omegas until they submitted to a bite. And Sherlock had made it clear that was the last thing he wanted.

Perhaps, John thought as they rode in a black cab to the latest crime scene, there wasn’t a label for them. And maybe that was just fine.

Greg Lestrade noticed, of course. Every police officer with a nose noticed – Sherlock was drenched in the smell of John and vice versa. They also noticed that Sherlock was not bonded, and that caused a slight chaffing in the ranks.

“So… what?” Greg snapped once John was out of earshot. “You just… left him?”

John’s alpha hackles were up instantly. “I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

“He might give off this don’t-care attitude, but at the end of the day he’s still an omega and you can’t just play about with his emotional state-”

John bared his teeth. “If anything, _Gregory_ , he’s playing about with mine. He asked me not to bite him.”

Greg stepped back, accepting John’s dominance in the situation. “Asked you?”

“Yeah,” John relaxed, putting his hands in his pockets. “I… could have. But no, he didn’t want me to. So, I didn’t.”

“He said that during a heat?”

“No, he said it before,” John shrugged. “Before things got… heated. So to speak. He made it clear he didn’t want it. I mean, during the actual heat, he kept on baring his neck-”

Greg swallowed, and glanced away.

“-oh, try and control yourself,” John sighed. “But, no. He was drunk on heat. That would’ve been taking advantage.”

“That’s… very noble,” Greg looked surprised. “Don’t get me wrong, John, I know you’re not the type for force-bond anyone, not in a million years, but you’ve always been… and Sherlock… it just seemed like when this happened – and we all knew it would – that you’d be bonded and expecting pups the next day, you know?”

A swell of nausea washed in John’s stomach. “No, sorry to be a killjoy. No bonding. No… no pups.”

Something in John’s tone made Greg peer closely at him. “John? What’s up?”

“Nothing…” John started to walk away, but Greg caught his arm.

“What’s wrong? Have I said something..?”

“It’s fine,” John said. “Sherlock took the morning-after pill, that’s all. Made him ill for a few days, that’s why we’ve not been answering calls and so on, he had a temperature and just had to stay in bed…” John was rambling now, to cover the queasiness.

Greg looked disgustingly sympathetic. “Ah, right. I see.”

“It’s fine, you know,” John shrugged. “It’s his choice.”

“Doesn’t stop it feeling… off.”

“I just… You know, if it had been me carrying them…”

“That’s not fair,” Greg said. “You don’t know what you would have done. Sherlock’s many things, but he’s not exactly maternal. I can’t see him with a baby sling on, or changing nappies, can you?”

“No,” John had to laugh. “I honestly can’t.”

“Then, it’s for the best, yeah?”

“It is,” John agreed, “but it’s tricky. In my head, you know, it felt like losing… one.”

“That’s just because you could smell Sherlock’s changes. It wasn’t a baby you were smelling.”

“Huh?”

Greg folded his arms. “You can’t smell something a few cells big. You just sense the changes in your mate – sorry, in an omega’s – body. Their womb getting ready, and so on. That’s the change. That’s the thing that stopped, not a baby. Just Sherlock’s body.”

John blinked, Greg’s words a comforting sort of truth. “Is that… scientifically accurate?”

“I don’t know, mate, I’m not a gynaecologist,” Greg shrugged. “But it’s what I’ve heard omegas say, and it makes sense.”

“It does,” John brightened considerably. “You know what, that actually helps?”

“Ah, then my work here is done,” Greg smiled. “Look – I know you’re not bonded, and don’t plan to be, but just keep half an eye, won’t you?” He nodded at Sherlock, who was snapping at Anderson. “He smells like something unclaimed, like a treat left out.”

They watched as Anderson took half a step forward. Sherlock took a graceful step sideways, out of his way, before coming over.

“He should have slapped him,” John said.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to make a scene.”

“That doesn’t sound like him. Everything ok?” John asked as soon as Sherlock was close enough.

“Get your team under control, Lestrade,” Sherlock snapped as an answer.

“Hey, it’s not my fault,” Greg threw up his hands. “I’m not the one walking around smelling like – ”

“Like _what_?” Sherlock said, acidly. “I’m hardly responsible for my biology, Lestrade. Your officers should know better. And I’d thank you to have a word with them about how commenting on someone’s bonding status is none of their business.”

“I’ll send a memo, or something,” Greg rolled his eyes. “Did you find anything?”

“Only that the man liked to collect and breed rare butterflies. I’m look into his collection, Lestrade, see if any of the pupae are poisonous. He may have handled them if they were deliberately mislabelled.” Sherlock clicked his magnifier closed.

“Ok,” Greg didn’t even bother asking for an explanation. “I’ll get the lab on it.”

Sherlock didn’t bother with a reply, he looked exhausted all of a sudden.

“Sherlock, are you ok?” John asked, putting a hand on his arm.

“Just tired,” Sherlock moved into the touch, and for a moment John though he was going to get a hug, in full view of the police force. But not quite. He got a lean.

“It can knock you for six, things like that,” Greg said sympathetically, then his mouth snapped shut in horror.

Sherlock looked up. “What can?”

“I just meant, you know, post-heat,” Greg said as casually as he could.

John had never wished harder to evaporate on the spot.

Sherlock shot John a venomous look. “What were you talking about?”

“Sherlock…”

“You’ve been discussing what we did with… anyone?” Sherlock stepped back.

“No! I’m not like that, I don’t… kiss and tell,” John tried to explain.

“No, but you’re alright discussing my private medical history with Lestrade?”

“Sherlock – ”

“John, omegas are attacked on a daily basis for seeking the treatment I did,” Sherlock hissed, leaning down and looking terrifying. “Do you think it was easy? Do you think I would tell _anyone_ about it? I only had to tell you because you were the one responsible.”

“Jesus,” John lowered his voice, too. “I didn’t tell him deliberately, it just slipped out, and Greg isn’t about to go running off and spreading it about – ”

“How do you know you weren’t overheard?” Sherlock countered.

“Well, I – ”

“You don’t!”

“Sherlock, these are all progressive police officers,” John tried to reason, aware he was digging his own grave, but unable to stop it, “no one heard anything, and even if they did, you’re more than within your rights to get the morning-after pill, and it’s none of their business!”

“Then why are you telling Lestrade about it?” Sherlock’s eyes were suddenly shining, and John realised he’d missed the point entirely.

“Sherlock…” John went to embrace him, and Sherlock knocked his arms away.

“No.”

“But I’m sorry-”

“No!” Sherlock folded his arms. People were looking, now. An omega’s cry of ‘No’ making every alpha in the vicinity want to leap up and defend him.

John was aware he was on terribly thin ice. He lowered his arms. “Ok.”

Sherlock gave a single nod.

Greg cleared his throat. “Is that everything, Sherlock, or...?”

“That’s everything,” Sherlock kept his eyes on John.

“Ok…” Greg paused, as if he wanted to say something more, but thought better of it, and left.

John shifted uncomfortably on the pavement. “Sherlock, I am sorry, I never thought – ”

“You didn’t think, because you don’t understand,” Sherlock said. He didn’t sound upset, only… empty. “You don’t understand because you’ve never had to, and you never will. You’re an alpha. From the moment you presented, you’ve been on the top. The world in run by alphas, and omegas are just livestock.”

“I don’t think so,” John said.

“I know you don’t. But so many do. And… it’s never safe. If I leave the flat too close to heat I get alphas tailing me. If I’m alone, I get whistled at, or shouted at out of cars. All the time. Do you know what that’s like?”

“It’s – ”

“And we’re told by alphas to take these things as compliments, to smile and enjoy it,” Sherlock said bitterly. “And we might have reproductive rights on paper, but do you realise how many omegas would rather bear an unwanted baby than risk being caught taking emergency contraception or having an abortion?”

“No.”

“No, because it’s not put on the news, or in the papers, because it’s only a silly omega, thinking they knew best,” Sherlock said bitterly. “If whatever we are is going to work… I need you to understand that. I need you to try and see how unusual it is for me to be my age, working, unbonded and unharmed. Can you see that?”

John nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. “I know.”

“Home?”

“We might as well.”


	6. Inhaling like Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation occurs, and John suggests a solution to Sherlock's fears.

They didn’t kiss when they got home. They didn’t hug, either, and Sherlock sat at the table in the lounge as John sat in his armchair, typing up the case. He’d apologised, though. What else did Sherlock want him to do? He couldn’t take back what he’d said to Greg, and John trusted Greg not to spread Sherlock’s business around…

_Though, Sherlock expected you not to spread his business around, and look what happened, there._

John squirmed in discomfort at himself.

Sherlock turned a page in his book, and made a note.

John cleared his throat. “Did you… think any more about-”

“I have an appointment for a contraceptive implant on Friday,” Sherlock interrupted. “Thank you for your concern.”

John winced. “Alright, that’s good-”

“Yes, it is,” Sherlock said. “Heaven forbid I should do something else you dislike.”

John closed his laptop lid. “You never used to mind when I disliked things. If anything, I thought you did some of it on purpose.”

Sherlock hesitated. “I never… did any of it on purpose. Well,” he licked his finger and turned a page, “maybe a few things.”

A smile flashed over John’s face. “I knew it.”

“You liked it.”

“Some things I didn’t – we’ve just established –”

“You liked the attention,” Sherlock looked up at last. “When you first came to look around, and you were inhaling the air like a drowning man, I thought you’d be like all the rest. Mycroft warned me against taking you in. An alpha roommate was only going to end one way, he warned me.”

“Well, he was sort of right about that,” John muttered.

“Mm,” Sherlock’s lip quirked in a tiny smile. “But what I was going to say was that as soon as you shot that cabbie for me… You never treated me like an omega again. You should have. Nature should have screamed at you to protect me and treat me like a young person, and bond with me. But you didn’t. When you saw I’d written _heat_ on the calendar, you left the building.” Sherlock turned in his chair. “I went into heat with your smell all over the flat, and you weren’t there. I was…”

“Grateful?”

“Furious,” Sherlock shrugged. “I needed to find the alpha who lived with me, but he was gone. It was the worst a heat has ever been for me. I couldn’t distract myself from your scent. No amount of self… help, would take the edge off. And when it was over, and you returned… I was so angry with you I couldn’t speak.”

John stared. “I just thought…”

“Yes, the problem with ignoring someone when you regularly don’t speak for hours or days, is that it somewhat loses its impact.”

John shook his head. “So… what was your last heat? An experiment?”

“Not as such,” Sherlock steepled his fingers. “I believed that, since you did not treat me as an alpha ought to treat an omega, and you left the flat for my heats, that you were simply not interested in me. I trusted that your repellence of me would override your desire to mate, if you stayed.”

“Repellence?” John almost shrieked. “Are you joking?”

“It was what I believed,” Sherlock shrugged. “It was only when you showed me… affection during and after the… process, that I began to change my mind about…”

“You’re right to change your mind,” John said. “I meant it, what I said after your heat.”

“You might love me?”

“One day, I might.” John stood. “And I’d rather know now if you’d rather I never did.”

“How can you say ‘one day’?” Sherlock looked up.

“Because I think things are too complicated to give you a straight answer, right now,” John said honestly. “You’d only just be coming down off heat regardless, and with everything else… I don’t think it’s fair to be anything other than simply here for you, right now.”

Sherlock blushed. “You realise, that is what has always bothered me, about love, and sentiment? If sentiment is a chemical defect, then love is a hallucination, a fantasy. And when I hear of strangers undergoing a heat-bond, and then claim they are in love…” he looked at his hands, then gently touched at his neck, where his scent gland was hidden under his shirt collar. “It seems like a curse. A curse to be forced to feel that way for someone.”

“I can understand you feeling like that,” John knelt down, taking Sherlock’s hands in his. “It’s… not easy for omegas, I know. It sometimes feels as though your mind forces you to love the alpha, to cope with the stress of having to be bound to them. It’s like… a spoonful of sugar.”

“And yet betas claim to fall in love,” Sherlock pointed out. “They go on ‘dates’, and get ‘married’,” he made the air-quotes before putting his hands back in John’s grip.

“Yes, they do. So… what? You think their love is different? Not real?” John stroked over Sherlock’s hands with his thumbs.

“I think it’s possibly more real than anything I could expect.” Sherlock’s mouth turned down.

John reached up, and stroked a finger down Sherlock’s jaw, to his chin. “Not necessarily. If you were willing to give it a chance.”

Sherlock gave a ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. There could be something in that.”

John took his hand away. “Do you still wish you were a beta?”

“Almost every month.”

A sadness welled up in John. To be dissatisfied with your secondary gender was hardly unheard of, but by Sherlock’s age, people had generally made their peace with it. Then again, by Sherlock’s age, most omegas were bonded, and with a heap of children. Perhaps the ‘love’ Sherlock had such a problem with was the cause for their peace, not necessarily simply time.

He knelt up and kissed Sherlock on the chin. “I wish I knew how to make you happy.”

Sherlock looked surprised. “You do.”

“I mean… permanently.”

“No one is ever happy forever, John.”

“I could give it a try,” John sighed. He looked up at Sherlock’s earnest face. “I would try to make you.”

“I believe you,” Sherlock nodded. He sat back against his chair. “But I don’t think you could stay with me if we were never… anything formal. I can’t let you bite me, John. Not ever.”

“I know, you’ve said, it’s ok-”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“I know.” John frowned, then brightened suddenly. “If you want to be a beta so badly, maybe you should take a leaf from their books? Do dating? Get… married, rather than bonded?”

Sherlock’s mouth opened a fraction before he caught it. “That… is slightly jarring to my mind.”

“Yes, it feels weird even to voice it,” John shrugged his shoulders. “But it could be an option for you to bear in mind. With… someone. In the future.”

Sherlock smiled, then, almost grinning at John’s discomfort. “This had better not be a proposal, John.”

“No,” John stood from his kneeling position, “it isn’t.”

“Ha. But thank you,” Sherlock turned back to his laptop, “for the suggestion. It may soften the blow for my parents a little.”

“Right.” John realised he was more or less forgiven for his indiscretion earlier, and straightened up a bit taller. Sherlock wasn’t exactly leaping into his arms, but… they were talking. It was a start. “Shall I make some tea?”

“I think that would be an idea,” Sherlock glanced at him. “And then we can go to bed.”

“We can –”

“If you like.”

“Obviously!”

“Obviously.”


	7. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock worries he is broken. John wants him anyway.

The pharmacist had warned them that Sherlock’s heats would be disrupted, so neither of them worried when four weeks went by and there was no sign of Sherlock becoming ready to mate. John watched him discard his calendars, and go back to taking his basal temperature in an attempt to monitor his cycle.

“It’s not changing,” Sherlock muttered as they entered week five.

“It will, give it time,” John kissed him on the cheek.

“I had hoped that your presence would…encourage it, somewhat,” Sherlock sighed. He rubbed absently at his upper left arm.

“Don’t scratch it,” John said gently.

Sherlock dropped his hand. His puncture wound from his new contraceptive implant was still healing. “I suppose this,” he held his arm up, “won’t be helping.”

“No, you’re swimming in hormones right now,” John clicked the kettle on. “Just try and ignore it. I’ve heard worrying about delayed heats can make them stay away even longer.”

Sherlock nodded, going back to his laptop.

But his heat did not come.

After nine heatless weeks, Sherlock came home with a paper bag from the chemist, and shut himself in the bathroom for half an hour. He came out looking sweaty, but relieved.

“I’m not pregnant, anyway,” he threw the two sticks away.

John looked up. “Well, you couldn’t really be – ”

“There was always a minute chance of the medication failing,” Sherlock said. “I should do another test next week if I haven’t gone into heat by then.”

Sherlock did have to take another test.

And the week after that, he took himself to the GP, who ran a blood test just to be sure, and told him not to worry.

“How can I not worry?” Sherlock blustered around the flat. “Eleven weeks, John. Eleven. This… Is unheard of.”

“It’s unusual, but not totally unheard of,” John sighed, catching Sherlock’s hands. “You’re making it worse getting into a state about it – ”

“You heard that pharmacist. My heat, my next heat, whenever it chooses to show up, will be fiercer than usual. Painful, maybe, but certainly enough to attract alphas from every direction. It could happen right here, or it could happen when I’m in a cab, or with Lestrade, or anything. It might come on too fast to get home. Don’t you realise what a danger this is?”

“Sherlock, it’s ok,” John let him relax into his arms. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t leave you alone.”

“Thank you.”

On the twelfth week, Sherlock was getting desperate.

He walked into the lounge, stark-naked, and took John’s laptop off his knee, replacing it with himself.

“Er… hello?” John looked up, putting his hands on Sherlock’s hips. “What’s the occasion?”

“I think we need to have sex,” Sherlock said as if discussing the weather. “It will kick-start my heat. I’ve tried masturbation, and it just hasn’t worked, so if you wouldn’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” John said, unable to deny the erection starting in his trousers, “but you know I won’t be able to knot you?”

“I assume that just having an alpha cock inside me will remind my body that it has to go into heat,” Sherlock was trying to undo John’s buttons.

“You assume?” John raised his hips off the sofa and allowed Sherlock to push his trousers and pants down his legs. “What if it – ”

“Then we both get to have sex, and it’ll take me mind off my broken body for a few minutes,” Sherlock wrapped a hand around John’s cock, gripping him hard.

John choked back a moan as blood rushed in response. “You’re not – broken – Sherlock – ”

“Yes, I am,” Sherlock pulled a tiny bottle of lube from the side-table drawer.

“Sherlock – ”

“Will you be quiet for once?” Sherlock slicked up John’s cock generously, transferring what was left on his hand to his entrance. “Just do this without turning it into an issue.”

“Fucking hell,” John shook his head in disbelief at Sherlock’s pre-sex attitude, actually folding his arms as Sherlock raised up, John’s cock in hand, and pressed the thick head to his tight entrance.

“Ah…”

“You’re not read-” John’s words were cut short as his glans popped over the rim of muscle inside Sherlock’s insides. “Ready? God, how are you – ”

“I told you masturbation wasn’t working,” Sherlock dropped down slowly.

“You’ve been…”

“Yes, you were busy,” Sherlock raised up a touch, then sank down again, John’s cock penetrating him fully. The grip on John’s erection was intense – a tight hold that was wet and hot and Christ alive, this was everything.

“Busy?!” John thrust up, and Sherlock cried out. “Fuck, Sherlock, if you need to have sex, you know I’ll drop pretty much anything.”

“Yes – maybe – you – might – ” Sherlock’s words came out between John’s thrusts. “But – in – the circumstances – oh god, John – ”

John reached between them and ran his fingers, feather-light, over Sherlock’s twitching cock. “You’re impossible. God, I’d have you every which way…”

“Do it,” Sherlock gasped. “Bite me. I’ll go into heat, and then – ”

“No,” John stopped still. “Sherlock, if I bite you now, yes, you’ll go into heat, but you know as well as I that it’s a false heat to make a bond – it’s not your natural cycle, and if I’m denied another bite, it could have serious consequences. Omegas have died!”

Sherlock put his hands on John’s still-clothed chest. “I know,” he rocked his hips, just enough to send sparks of pleasure through them both. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“I know you’re desperate,” John stroked up the omega’s back. “I know. But don’t put yourself at risk. It’ll come on. I promise.” He pulled Sherlock down for a kiss. It was soft, like their now love-making, and slow, and John was shuddering with pleasure at the motions of Sherlock’s body around him. “Sherlock…”

“I know,” Sherlock whispered. He bucked his hips just a little harder. “I want you.”

Slick and lube was dampening John’s thighs, the scent of Sherlock filled his lungs, and it was all he could do to lick and taste and kiss that scent gland in front of him, denying his primal urge and yet indulging in the softest pleasure they could manage. “God. I’m so close. Going to fill you up, Sherlock, flood your insides…”

Sherlock gave a high pitched cry, his cock stiffening as John’s tiny touches became a hard grip on his ejaculating cock.

John thrust up hard once – twice – and came with a groan, biting Sherlock on the shoulder, though not hard enough to break the skin.

They stayed together on the sofa for a few moments.

“I don’t think it’s going to work,” Sherlock said sadly, into John’s jumper.

“It’s alright,” John was still buried inside the omega. “It’ll be ok.” He stroked his hair.

“Would you still want to do this?” Sherlock asked, not looking John in the face. “If I really was broken?”

“You’re not broken, Sherlock.”

“But if I was.”

John sighed, and cuddled the omega hard and close. “I will always want you, Sherlock. No matter what life throws at us.”

Sherlock nodded, and sniffed, hiding his face in John’s chest.


	8. Twenty-six Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's heat still hasn't started up, and John has to clear up a few things. A routine case leads to a chase.

Twenty-two weeks after Sherlock’s trip to the pharmacy, and there was no sign of his heat cycle starting up again. John worried quietly about it, and Sherlock worried aloud, going to see two private doctors who told him that he was perfectly healthy (aside from the smoking), and that he was making things worse by stressing about it. Which, of course, didn’t help.

The only relief John could gather was that Sherlock’s scent hadn’t changed – he still smelled like the delicious omega he always had, without any sickness taint or a hint of a menopause. This was just an oddity.

And after the twenty-fifth week, the two of them stopped mentioning it altogether.

What they did talk about was their (and Sherlock couldn’t say the word without puling a face) relationship. Since Sherlock had voiced his concerns about being ‘broken’, John had tried his best to be a dutiful and caring alpha – even if it was difficult when the omega you cared for didn’t want to bond with you. He kept the fridge filled, brought Sherlock blankets when he dozed on the sofa, massaged the aches in his shoulders after Sherlock was hunched at the table experimenting, and pleasured him as much as either of them could bear.

Sex was clearly bothering Sherlock – he wanted to be close to John, and to satisfy his urge for intimacy, but the uses of lubricant and the fact they couldn’t always have penetrative sex served only as reminders that his heats were mysteriously absent.

“Case,” Sherlock threw John’s coat at him. “Coming?”

“Uh,” John closed his laptop. “Where?”

“Docklands. Body found sealed up in the walls of an office block.”

“Nice,” John followed him down the stairs. “City boy?”

“Seems likely,” Sherlock stopped at the foot of the stairs, and sighed. “John… I have been thinking… about our situation.”

“Situation?”

“About us being… physically intimate.”

“Ok…”

Sherlock kept his eyes on his shoes. “I understand it is difficult for you, as an alpha, to continue this endless waiting for an omega to go into heat, and I would understand perfectly if you wished to put an end to our,” he winced, “relationship, such as it is, if your partner is unable to satisfy your own natural urges – ”

“Woah,” John held his hands up. “What’s brought this on?”

“You’ve… been kind, but I understand it will be difficult to continue if I never –”

“Sherlock, wait,” John took his hands. “You think I’ve been looking after you to send you into heat?”

Sherlock stared at their joined hands. “I assumed your care was intended to make me comfortable enough to stimulate a heat.”

John grinned in disbelief. “You really are the biggest idiot, you know that?”

“Why?” Sherlock looked offended.

“Because I’ve not been trying to nest with you!” John squeezed their hands. “I’ve been trying to make you feel better, because I – I like you. I want to comfort you, and I want to look after you.”

Sherlock blinked. “You haven’t been trying to stimulate a heat?”

“No!”

“Oh…” Sherlock’s face was one of utter mystery. “Then, I’m sorry for misinterpreting your-”

John pulled him down by the shirt front into a kiss. Sherlock tensed, then relaxed into it, letting John comb through the curls at the back of his neck. “I don’t do things because I feel like I ought,” John murmured as the kiss broke. “I do things because I want to. And I want to look after you.”

“But I’m not your mate,” Sherlock whispered back.

“Doesn’t make a drop of difference, to me.”

Sherlock smiled. “Then… case?”

“Case,” John let him straighten up. “And you can relax, Sherlock. I’m not going to make you do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I know.”

 

*

 

Greg and Sherlock were surveying the body, which was half-leaning out of the bricked-up wall. John went over, snapping on some gloves.

“Bit gruesome,” Greg nodded at the corpse.

“It’s only a body,” John shrugged, lifting one of the arms. “And it’s dry as anything. Mummified, even.”

“How long has it been here?” Sherlock went nose-to-nose with the dead man.

“Difficult to say, with the mummification. Could be a few months, could be twenty years. You’d need to get it out and test it properly,” John stepped back. “Any ideas, Sherlock?”

“Whose office is this?” Sherlock asked Greg.

“Head of Media for the company,” Greg shrugged, as if he didn’t get why an investment firm needed that sort of thing. “Alpha woman in her forties. Reported a smell, and-”

“A smell?” Sherlock frowned. “A smell, from this mummified, desiccated corpse?” He inhaled sharply to illustrate his point. “And can you two alphas smell anything?”

“No,” John gave a tiny sniff. “No, there’s no smell of rot – well, there wouldn’t be, would there… Ah.”

“Ah. So, she wanted you to find this body.”

“You think she did it?” Greg took out his tablet.

“No, but she certainly knows something about it, and wanted it found. Not to mention she’s been sharing an office with it for however long.” They went back into the main office area, where the Scotland Yard detectives and officers were waiting for their turn. “Exhume him, and question her. She knows something, or else why-”

Sherlock never finished his sentence.

John looked up, to ask him why he’d stopped walking, but then the scent hit him in the face and he reeled.

It was omega heat-scent, but not as John had ever experienced it. This was no slow start of pre-heat, this was a concentrated, thick soup of smell that clagged the back of his mouth and made him rock-hard in an instant.

“Ohhh…” Sherlock bent double. The sound of liquid hitting the carpet started as slick gushed from his backside, through his trousers. “Ohhhhhhh,” he groaned as cramps took hold.

“Fucking hell,” John reached for him just as Greg did. Just as every alpha in the room did.

It was pandemonium.

Three omega officers shoved their alpha counterparts to the ground, fighting their way to the front of the pack in defence of their omega ally.

John snarled viciously at Greg, who snapped back just as fiercely. So John really had no choice but to launch himself at him, snapping at his throat.

Sherlock yelled as more slick ran from him, and an alpha got hold of his coat. He slipped out of it quickly, climbing over the closest desk and try to run. His urge to breed was being overridden by his urge to stay alive and not be forced by this room full of alpha strangers.

John punched Greg on the side of the head before getting up and dragging Anderson to the ground, kicking him in the erection so he howled. “Mine!” John growled at Sherlock’s pursuers, but they were all shouting the same thing.

_Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine_

“No!” John roared, fighting his way to Sherlock.

Sherlock was running through the office, his heavy scent drawing alphas from every direction. The few omegas there were joined him running, swiping at anyone who got too close, trying to help him run away.

John hit the elevator button, his brain screaming at him to get to the omega in heat, to knot him quickly, to claim him and bond with him right here in front of everyone.

The elevator dinged, but Sherlock was too far away…

“I’ll hold it,” Greg put his hand over the sensor. He was developing a lovely black eye. “Go get him.”

“Thanks,” John shouted as he pelted through the wreckage of the office. Sherlock was being driven back into the cubicle area, his omega protectors reduced to a single one. The alphas in pursuit had dropped off – some of them realising they had bond-mates, or didn’t fancy bonding with a stranger, or just tiring from the chase.

John picked up a fire extinguisher as he passed it, pulling the pin out.

The alphas had Sherlock, and the other omega – a red-haired girl wearing a tea-lady uniform – cornered in the conference room. Seven alphas stood around them – all men, all erect, and all panting to get to Sherlock first.

John walked up from behind, catching Sherlock’s frightened eye. He raised the extinguisher nozzle.

Sherlock grabbed the omega girl and dragged her to the floor just as John squeezed the trigger.

Ice-cold gas shot out of the extinguisher, straight at the group of alphas, who screamed in shock and pain. The sensation wouldn’t kill anyone, but it would hurt tremendously.

Shouts of agony filled the room as the gas turned to mist. Sherlock was at John’s side, the omega girl holding his hand.

“John – please – claim – need – you – ”

“We’re going,” John growled, the ache in his trousers almost painful as he kept on icing the shrieking alphas. “Elevator. Run. Now!”

Sherlock fled, the girl with him. John gave the extinguisher its final blast before dropping it and running, too. He was faster than Sherlock, and caught up to him just as he halted, seeing Greg at the elevators.

“He’s ok, Sherlock, he won’t hurt you,” John said quickly. Greg had his free hand over his nose and mouth, but he was still panting, still desperate. John didn’t trust him to be able to control himself for long. “Quickly!”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said to the omega girl as John dragged him inside.

“Have a good one,” she smiled as Greg released the doors and they slammed shut.

John had not anticipated the confined space as the elevator crawled down to the ground floor. A fresh gush of slick poured down Sherlock’s legs, and the omega moaned in aching desperation, finally dropping to his knees as fear gave way to longing.

“John…” Sherlock started going for his own fly buttons. “Can do it. Quick…”

“I’m not fucking you in a lift,” John pulled him up, and Sherlock leaned against him, his smaller erection rubbing against John’s, his trousers soaked and utterly ruined. “Jesus, Sherlock, you smell incredible…”

“Condensed heat scent. Too long without… uh!” Sherlock shuddered as yet more wetness soaked him. “John! I’m so emptyyyyy…”

John moaned, the scent of Sherlock’s slick so tart he wanted to lick it up, suck the dripping fabric. He dropped a hand into the back of Sherlock’s trousers, slipping easily between his lubricated arse cheeks and sinking two fingertips inside the omega.

Sherlock moaned, and backed against the intrusion, trying to get the fingers deeper, but the angle was all wrong. “John!”

“Fuck,” John thrust his digits as much as he could, feeling the lift brakes come on. “We’re there. We’ll get a cab. Go home. Oh fuck.”

“No!” Sherlock wailed as John withdrew his hand. “John, please, put them back – ”

“I can’t finger you walking through the lobby! Sherlock, we’ve got to be quick, there’ll be alphas everywhere –”

“Then fuck me!”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” John shoved his hand back down Sherlock’s trousers and into his arse. He draped Sherlock’s retrieved coat around him, giving his soaked trousers some privacy, and the fingers up his arse some dignity, at least.

“So good, John,” Sherlock moaned. “Need more. Pleeeeease!”

John pushed a third finger inside, his wrist starting to ache from the lack of access in Sherlock’s tight trousers. “Fuck, you’re so wet. So soft for me… I’m going to get inside you so easily, Sherlock… Just hold on for me, that’s it, just fuck yourself on my hand… oh, shit, what am I doing…”

The lift reached the ground floor at last, and John had to drag Sherlock out with his free arm, the omega clamped close to him as the hurried. Sherlock was losing it, now, moaning and bucking his hips as he went, his arse contracting around John’s fingers.

It was a miracle they got a cab with a beta driver. John threw a handful of notes through the partition.

“Baker Street, now. And I’m sorry for the state your seats are going to be in,” John growled as the cab sped off, Sherlock face-down on the leather, sinking his own fingers inside himself.


	9. Sweat and Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's heat. Shameless smut, enjoy.

John never really remembered the route of the cab ride. He knew the car was fogged with Sherlock’s scent – practically blurring his vision – and that Sherlock was wantonly fingering himself on the back seat. He was dimly aware of the horrified beta driver sliding the partition to block his view of his passengers.

And it was then that John lost it.

Letting out an alpha snarl, he yanked at Sherlock’s trousers, pulling them over the curve of his arse. Sherlock arched his back, helping him even as he stuffed three fingers as far as he could reach into his entrance. Slick was soaking through his clothes, running down his thighs to the cab seats, dripping onto the carpet like sweet syrup. Christ, if the driver’s next passenger was an alpha, he or she would be practically humping the leather just from the lingering scent.

John did no such thing. He swatted Sherlock’s hand from himself, and sank his own thicker digits inside, relishing the soft surrounding skin, the soaking muscles contracting around his touch, and the way Sherlock was moaning…

“Fuck,” John squeezed at his cock with his free hand. “Sherlock. My Sherlock…”

“Fill me,” Sherlock gasped, rocking his hips, trying to fuck himself on John’s hand. “Just… get inside me –”

“Almost home,” John forced out through gritted teeth.

“Can’t wait-” Sherlock was trying to undo his shirt buttons.

“No, my sweet omega, don’t show yourself to everyone,” John soothed, putting his hand over Sherlock’s struggling one. “I’ll have you properly as soon as we’re home. I’ll mount you and knot you until you’re so full you pass out filled with my come.”

Sherlock groaned, shuddering at the words. “John… please…”

“This could go on for days,” John murmured, fucking Sherlock gently with his fingers. “Your heat could last over a week. I could be inside you day after day, making you feel good, letting your cock twitch in my hands, letting your arse tighten around my knot… You’re going to feel so good…”

Sherlock cried out as John’s touches found his prostate. “Oh!” A fresh wave of scent poured off him, along with a gush of slick that soaked John past the wrist.

“Oh my god…” John dropped his head, shamelessly licking the stuff off his skin as Sherlock looked back at him, expression somewhere between shocked and aroused.

“You’re…”

“You taste as good as you smell,” John swallowed. “Oh Sherlock…” he withdrew his fingers, Sherlock crowing at the empty feeling before screeching in delight as John dragged his tongue over his twitching entrance.

“John!”

“My omega…” John breathed against the hot and slick skin. He swirled his tongue around the soft, puffy rim of Sherlock’s desperate hole, then plunged it inside.

Sherlock’s knees buckled. “J…”

A finger joined John’s tongue, hooking over the rim and tugging gently as slick trickled out, devoured and tasted and thrust into by the alpha’s tongue. John didn’t care they were in public – he didn’t care what this was anymore, except that this omega – that _Sherlock_ – needed to be claimed, fucked, knotted and  - no. Not bitten. But the rest… Fuck, he was going to knot this man so hard.

The cab screeched to a halt outside 221B.

“Get out!” the cabbie yelled.

John tore his face away, wiping it with his sleeve. “Pull your trousers up, Sherlock. Now!” He half-dragged the omega from the cab, leaving the cash contents of Sherlock’s wallet in the seat pocket as an apology, and they were at the door before you could say ‘knife’.

Unlocked, in, closed, locked.

Sherlock tore off his clothes as if they were burning him. He was blushed and sweating, slick still pouring from him in some impossible feat that had to be draining his body of fluids – John needed to knot him. He needed to. He needed to.

He grabbed Sherlock by the shirt front. “Get the fuck upstairs, on your bed. Do not touch yourself. Get on all fours.” He let go, and Sherlock went quickly up the stairs, dropping his shirt, socks, trousers as he went.

John scribbled a quick note for Mrs Hudson (though she’d probably hear what was happening when she got home), and pelted up after his prize.

Sherlock was face-down on the bed, arse in the air, hands gripping the bed-stead, legs wide apart.

John let out a moan at the sight of him. “Fuck…”

“John – please – need – knot –” Sherlock gasped as a cramp hit him, slick running from him in less of a gush, but enough to make John tear the seams of his clothes trying to get them off.

His heart was pounding – enough to kill a beta, had his biology been different – he was sweating, and even his senses had changed to deal with the situation – short-sight improving, scent of smell heightening, muscles flooding with energy, fingertips sensitive and ready to pleasure the one who needed him.

John kicked off his underwear, his straining erection free at last, knot already forming in response to the desperation of Sherlock’s heat. “Sherlock – relax –”

“Fuck..!” Sherlock whined, his insides clenching around nothing. “John, please. Please!”

“Oh, shit.” John position himself, the blunt head of his cock pushing only for a moment against Sherlock’s entrance before almost being sucked down. “Ah!” He grabbed Sherlock’s hips to steady himself, trying to enter slowly, but his legs were shaking, Sherlock was crying out in need, and oh fuck, this was never going to last long, anyway.

John withdrew a fraction, then slammed back inside, bottoming out completely.

Sherlock gasped, throwing his head back, arching his spine as his insides were finally filled and stretched as he wanted. “Oh…” his erect cock throbbed, and he came quickly, spurts of harmless ejaculate running down his body as his arse tightened.

John growled at the tightness, the heat burning through Sherlock onto him. He rolled his hips and moved again, just as hard, out and then back in with a wet slap that made Sherlock cry out.

“More! More!”

“Fuck yes,” John put a hand to Sherlock’s hair, not pulling but holding as he picked up a hard rhythm. The smack of his skin against Sherlock’s was music to his ears, punctuated by Sherlock’s crisp moans, and his cries for ‘more’, ‘harder’, ‘faster, John!’, until John was holding the omega’s head down onto the mattress, fucking the life out of him in a brutal thrust that only made Sherlock want more.

“God – I can feel – want it – give it me…” Sherlock cried, trying to bend further, trying to get John’s knot inside him. He was bending his throat to the side, his inner omega begging for the bite, showing he was submissive, he was such a good omega, he’d make a good mate, he’d have good heats and be such a pet…

“Christ,” John snapped his hips, his knot slipping inside Sherlock, then out again as it swelled. He tried not to look at the scent gland on Sherlock’s neck, the place he longed to sink his teeth, feel the crunch of muscle in his mouth as he took this beautiful man for his mate. “Fuck, you’re so wet. Going to stretch you so much…”

“Yes! Please! Do it!” Sherlock wailed, moaning each time the hard swelling nudged inside him. “John! Knot meeeee!” the cry turned to a sharp scream that was cut off quickly into shocked silence.

John’s knot slipped past the ring of muscle of Sherlock’s insides, sticking John’s cock within, and forcing him to give into the build of heat. He turned his head away from Sherlock’s neck, grazing the omega’s back with his teeth, though the action felt so, so wrong. He groaned, come flooding out of him, his erection pulsing as he orgasmed, coming and coming over and over as if he might never stop. Beneath him, Sherlock was sobbing in happy satisfaction, his own slim cock twitching through a dry orgasm that would last for as long as John stayed buried inside him.

“Oh my god…” John’s bunched muscles relaxed. He managed to manoeuvre the two of them into a spooning position – still trapped inside Sherlock, of course – before he collapsed.

Sherlock wiped his face, his eyes already closed as his body tried to send him to sleep. “Thank you…”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Saved me… Those alphas… If you weren’t there…”

“I was there.”

“I could have been force-bonded…” Sherlock’s voice cracked.

“Shh,” John gathered him into his arms, wincing as another orgasm rocked through his body. “It’s ok. I got you. I have got you. I’m here as long as you want me.”

“If I let you bite me, they wouldn’t have gone for me,” Sherlock sniffed.

“True,” John kissed the scent gland, nosing it and licking it gently, longing to taste. “But it’s a big sacrifice. And you might never have such a strong start to a heat again.”

“Might not,” Sherlock sighed, exhaustion coming for him. “You have to stay. In case.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“With me.”

“I know.”

“And maybe…” Sherlock yawned, “I’ll think about the bonding thing. Maybe.”

John’s heart leapt.


	10. Belonging to Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of Part Two is here!
> 
> Thank you one and all for reading, commenting, leaving kudos and generally being awesome.
> 
> Part Three to follow...

Sherlock’s heat lasted an incredible _nine days_.

John was exhausted. Sherlock was wrung out. They were both asleep in the middle of the day, in John’s old bedroom, having broken the bedframe in Sherlock’s room. The sun was filtered through the curtains, the scent of slick and come and sweat in the air.

John had done what he could for Sherlock. He’d made sure he had showers and ate thin soups (though his digestive system had all-but shut down John was worried he would starve to death), and rested and hydrated throughout. And when Sherlock’s arse gushed with yet more slick, John was there to fill it.

Twice he’d woken up to find Sherlock sliding down onto his erection.

“Sorry,” Sherlock gasped, starting to bob up and down. “I couldn’t wait.”

“Christ,” John’s sleepy hands found Sherlock’s thighs, and his slim, hard cock, gently massaging and touching him as he fucked himself by rocking his pelvis, deep and slow, letting John’s knot form inside him rather that forcing it past his tight rim.

“That’s it…” Sherlock whispered, wriggling his arse on John’s crotch. “Oh, that’s… your knot… ah!”

John moaned, feeling Sherlock’s insides clench around him before he came yet again, shooting yet more ejaculate into Sherlock’s arse, flooding against his cervix, seeking entrance to his womb.

If he hadn’t taken precautions, he would certainly be pregnant.

It hadn’t all be slow and sleepy.

After the sports drinks had kicked in, the two of them were frenetic with energy. John picked Sherlock up by the thighs, slamming him into the wall as he cried out in delight, gasping as John thrust up inside him with no preamble.

“Oh John!”

“Fuck, my Sherlock…” John inhaled the scent pouring off the omega’s neck. “My angel, you’re perfect…”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock held on, arms around John’s neck. “Deeper, need you, please, fill me…”

“God, I _want_ you,” John moaned, thrusting hard, licking and sucking at Sherlock’s shoulder and throat. “I want you so much. You’re mine.”

“Yours!” Sherlock’s flesh bounced on the impact of John’s, the rhythmic smacks filling the room.

“Fuck,” John held him up and turned, still inside him, to drop Sherlock onto the sofa. “Spread your legs, that’s it…”

Sherlock held his knees apart, close to his chest, whining and moaning beautiful as John pounded into him again, knot slipping in and out, torturing the omega’s need to be filled, knotted, mated with. “John!”

“Mine,” John snarled bearing his teeth at Sherlock’s jaw.

The omega tilted his head in submission, his instincts begging for a mate, for a bond, for a bite.

John nipped his jaw, and snapped his hips forward thrice more before forcing his engorged knot inside and spilling come into the man once again.

“Oh…” Sherlock passed a hand over the skin of his neck, as if checking it was intact. “John.”

“Uh…” John panted, sweat running down his back, stuck inside Sherlock for at least the next few minutes. “Sherlock, that’s…”

“I love you.”

John looked up. “What?”

Sherlock was looking at the ceiling. “You heard me.”

“Sherlock…” John took his chin and tilted his head, gently. “Is this your heat talking?”

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock gave a tiny smile. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Only… the words didn’t seem right.”

“Because omegas only fall in love when they bond,” John realised.

“Traditionally,” Sherlock’s smile grew. “I would be interested to become an anomaly.”

“Sherlock…”

“You love me, don’t you?” Sherlock nosed at John’s cheek. “You asked, after the last time… if I’d stop you falling in love with me. I haven’t stopped you. You didn’t leave when I was… broken. You fought other alphas for me. What is this, then?”

“Oh, Sherlock,” John gave in and wrapped the omega in his arms, laying sideways as they were still connected. “You actually mean this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, snuggling into John’s neck. “I want this. You. I… want it to continue for as long as possible. I… love you.”

“I love you, too,” John sobbed, bringing his mouth to Sherlock’s.

They kissed, so softly.

Then it broke.

“You… have changed your mind about bonding, then?” John asked, his heart thundering.

Sherlock blinked. “Not yet.”

“Oh.” The thundering feeling melted into something closer to sinking. “Right.”

“I wish there was some way to be yours… without having to give up who I am,” Sherlock said sadly. “But… It’s confusing. My body wants this. Wants your bite. But my mind…” he looked into John’s eyes. “I am frightened, John. Very frightened about losing my autonomy.”

“I know,” John stroked his hair. He arched his back and his cock slid from Sherlock’s arse along with a rush of slick and come. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Sherlock glanced down. “Would you like to take a bath with me? I estimate we have an hour or so before I’ll need you again.”

And so they had continued through the heat, not talking about bonding or biting or loving, just getting through the haze or hormones, fighting to get to the end of the confusion.

John groaned, passing a hand over his face. He got up, and went to open the window, letting the old scents out into the air. Below, London was operating as usual.

Sherlock didn’t even stir.

John went straight downstairs to shower. The place was a mess. Mrs Hudson would die if he ever let her see what had happened to the sofa cushions. Or the kitchen table. Or the desk. He started the shower and scrubbed himself liberally. He knew what he had to do, now. It had seemed to complicated, before. But now Sherlock’s heat was over, and there was no danger of confusion… he had to get out before Sherlock woke up.

He dressed, and slipped out of the flat unnoticed.

 

*

 

Sherlock woke as John put a hand on him shoulder, around an hour later.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s nearly three.”

“Mm, go away,” Sherlock snuggled into the bedclothes. “Bring me some tea. And a biscuit.”

“I thought you wanted me to go away,” John half-opened the curtains, letting a small amount of light in.

“Urgh,” Sherlock hid under the sheets. “Is it day? That’s horrendous. Turn it off.”

“I was hoping we could chat, actually,” John lifted the tea-tray he’d brought onto the bedside table. “And I did bring you tea, and toast. So stop being mardy.”

Sherlock sat up and dropped the covers to his waist. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now… Sherlock, I know you said a lot of thing during your heat –”

“I wasn’t lying,” Sherlock sipped his tea. “That thing I said. It was… true. I do.”

John smiled. “I do, too…”

“But I also meant I don’t want a bite,” Sherlock set the tea down. “The risk of my next heat coming on as strongly as this are practically nil, and I doubt I’d be in as much danger again. Your bite might protect me, but if there’s no risk… I’m sorry, John, it’s not a step I feel ready to take. Yet.”

“Yet.”

“I believe ‘never say never’ is the expression.”

“Yeah,” John nodded. “I’ve heard that before. But I’d still like you to be mine.”

“I’d be yours, too,” Sherlock sighed, “if there was a way to – what is that?”

John pulled a tiny cube out of his pocket. “This?”

Sherlock stared at it. “John…”

“Sherlock…” John got off the bed, and went around to Sherlock’s side. “I realised there is something we can do. To belong to one another without a bite.”

“John…” Sherlock’s mouth was hanging open, his eyes wide. “That’s…”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes…”

“Oh my god.”

“Will you do me the –”

“Yes!”

“Let me finish, you horror!” John grinned. “Will you do me the greatest honour I can think of, and become my husband?”

“Oh, yes!” Sherlock leapt out of bed into John’s arms before he’d even opened the ring box. They fell backwards in a tangle of bedsheets, kisses, tears and giggles, Sherlock going scarlet as John slid the white-gold band onto his finger.

“Suits you,” John smiled.

“Only betas get married,” Sherlock said in disbelief. “What are we doing?”

“Being husbands, instead of mates,” John kissed him. “It’s enough for me, if it’s enough for you.”

“It is,” Sherlock kissed him back. “Very much so.”

“Mycroft is going to be pissed.”

“I know,” Sherlock pulled back to look at the shine on his finger. “I can’t wait to tell him.”

 


End file.
